On Poietes, Lola, writing, life, and other things . . .
You might notice me refer to myself or sign things as Poietes, which is an ancient Greek word that means poet or maker. Years ago, I was looking for an original word when e-mail first came about, and I wanted something that reflected not just who I thought I was, but who I wanted to become. I looked a long time until I came across Poietes, and I’ve been using it for quite a while. That being said, Lola is my alter-ego, and you might encounter her if something particularly scathing or satirical needs to be said. I had reached a point at which I ranted less, but that was before the current occupant in the White House. Now I find myself ranting daily at the television. Whenever I want to jump through the television screen at some idiot who is blatantly lying or conjuring facts out of whole cloth, I try to remember what someone told me once (and it was a very zen moment): You have to lower your expectations, or you are going to have a heart attack. I say that I try, but I don’t always succeed, especially now.
I don’t fit into any one kind of category. I’m not the blue-eyed, blonde all-American, and I’m not the typical wife/mother. I use my maiden name, always have. I like my last name, and my dad had no sons, so I use my last name partially out of loyalty to my father and partially because it’s my professional name. I’m half Filipina, but can be mistaken for several different races, which in the current political environment could be dangerous. I keep telling my husband that I expect to be asked for my papers any day (I would add the disclaimer, just kidding, but I’m not). Listen, I’ve been asked “what are you?” which is such an obnoxiously ignorant question, and for many years I couldn’t believe that such people still existed, yet now we see that those people are crawling back out of the woodwork, and it doesn’t make life better for anyone. Pipe bombs? Religious slaughters? It’s a strange, dangerous world in which we live, and a very, very strange time, as well.
As someone who once worked in a newsroom and who dabbled briefly at being a reporter, I am personally offended by the bizarre things that come out of 45’s mouth, but most especially by the labeling as the press as the “enemy of the people.” Geez . . . Really? First Amendment anyone? For most of this country’s history, the press has acted as an unofficial check on our government, and it’s a role that they do well—Watergate, anyone? But the country is dealing with an ignorant man who has no concept of civics or governance, a man who wanted to print more money without having the gold to support it, a man who thinks he can wipe out Constitutional Amendments with just his signature. I could go on, but I digress . . . this is supposed to be about me.
I’m a curmudgeon and would rather not deal with most of the general public. I border on being a cross between a recluse and an agoraphobic. Being in crowds tends to give me migraines, and I have been known to hyperventilate in crowded elevators (hey, I know, so much fun, right?). As a former college English instructor, I have a tendency to correct those around me (sorry), and I text in complete sentences. Admittedly I’m pretty arrogant, even when I really try not to be, but I just have no patience with stupidity, so it’s so hard most of the time. Hence, the self-imposed exile to the mountains where I now happily abide with my spouse, my animals, and all of the solitude a recluse could ever want.
I tend to be my own worst enemy because I don’t believe in myself enough, but I believe in those around me and push them to do their best. I trust people too quickly, which has led more than once to people taking advantage of me. Live and learn, I suppose.
I think that overall, people don’t read enough and don’t think enough. The mindless cacophonous chatter that rules all of our days is stultifying, as is the obsessions with personalities and unobtainable lifestyles. I recently read an article about a woman who so wanted a “Kardashian wedding” that she became enraged when her guests didn’t cough up $1500 each for the pleasure of giving her this dream. Seriously? And please explain to me how Scientology is still recognized as a religion (not really . . . I just don’t care enough). But doesn’t anyone care about expanding their horizons any more? Doesn’t anyone care about what’s beyond their back doors? I worry about people in general. I worry that people are too connected to their devices and not connected enough to the world. I hate that we’re so fractured as a society, and as a nation, and as a planet. I worry about the planet and try to stay aware of my own carbon footprint, and it kills me that polar bears are getting skinnier every year.
It is so very hard to be hopeful these days, and more often than not, my cynicism wins. I’m still a flaming feminist, a very left of center liberal who believes that we should all give peace a chance, so to speak . . . With that in mind, change may still come one day, fingers crossed, but anyone out there who sits around and complains but doesn’t bother to vote needs to rethink things very seriously. Never before in the history of this nation has our democracy been so tenuous, and if you think it cannot happen here, I would just like to point out that it happens all of the time, all over the world.
I continue to wonder what happened to exploration? Self-exploration? Wanting to know what is out there in the world? Wanting to go out and find it? Wanting to bathe yourself in the wonders of everything that awaits you? I mean, are we so short-sighted as a society now, or are we so scared? Which is it? Is it fear of what’s out there that keeps us from wanting to explore? Why do we keep our explorations confined to Facebook threads and the latest Twitter feud, instead of where our brains can take us and then beyond? Or is it this growing desire for nationalism over globalism, as if we can survive here without anyone else in the world. I may be a recluse, but I’m not an isolationist. It’s a big, big universe, people. Look past your noses.
Anyway, I still firmly believe that people should be more like dogs. This continues to be my credo, and I’ll never change it. We now have two dogs and a cat, a Russian Blue, one of the only breeds that doesn’t cause my asthma to go into overdrive (Correction as of January 2019: five dogs, two cats, and six horses—long stories). I still miss my fluffy boy dog Shakes, who is in doggie heaven with his brother and all of the dogs that came before. Tillie will be 11 in a month, but she only realizes that when her arthritis acts up from playing too much ball or tree (sticks are too small). We (Tillie and I) both take eggshell membrane for our arthritis, and it works splendidly. Try it. Unfortunately, Bailey, who is now six, has gotten a little more strange since the move, and now refuses to stay home alone (the stories I could tell you). The cat is spoiled, as well, and I wouldn’t have things any other way, and now that we have this land, I’m hoping to maybe add at least one or two more dogs, and maybe a horse, and some goats, and whatever else happens our way (don’t tell Corey).
I’m still addicted to the “Walking Dead,” “Dr. Who” and all things BBC America, and I cannot get enough of “Outlander” (show and books). My other more recent television addictions are “Ghost Adventures” and “Expedition Unknown” on the Travel Channel. I don’t watch cooking shows because they make me hungry. This little bio is decidedly not little, but at least it gives you a preview of how I do tend to go on about things. But as with everything in life, it’s a work in progress.
That’s all for now. I usually update this page and my avatar (thank you, Photoshop) about once a year, and for those of you who have been here before, you can see that not much changes. Welcome to my little world where anything can happen and unfortunately, usually does. As always, there will be more later. Peace.
P.S. Did I mention that I tend to go on a lot and that my blogs are actually blongs? I didn’t? Well, you’ll see.